


The Killing Fields

by Lotusflower85



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Crusades, F/M, Gen, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 21:02:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1483816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lotusflower85/pseuds/Lotusflower85
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He tells himself that he is only following orders - until he becomes the man who has to give the orders."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Killing Fields

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2008

_For his soul is protected by the armour of faith, just as his body is protected by the armour of steel. He is thus doubly-armed, and need fear neither demons nor men._

-       Bernard de Clairvaux

 

 

When Robin of Locksley arrives in the Holy Land, he sees the path before him filled with glory. And it is beautiful. He wears the white mantle and red cross of a Templar Knight, and he follows those who believe in their own glorification as much as Christ’s. But he soon finds that the same men who speak holiness in their tents become tyrants on the battlefield. His first kill is a messy affair, as his sword does not slice through skin as easily as he had thought. He has to work at it, and neither his hands nor his robes come away clean.

 

But killing soon becomes second nature to him, and he looks for his glory there. He keeps score with his fellow Knights, and his skill soon becomes noticed as his tally rises, day by day. There is justification in his cause, he tells himself, and listens to the priests when they say it is no sin to take the life of a heathen. But he cannot help but see that the enemy has a soul, despite all his schooling which tells him otherwise. He sees it in their eyes, and sometimes, he hears it in their prayers, at dawn when the sound of it drifts over from the Saracen camps. He thinks it pleasant to the ear, even beautiful in its own way. Robin finds his own prayers difficult to word.    

 

The first time he questions the war is when, during a fierce battle, the commander of his company orders him to kill all the prisoners they have collected. The Turk are too many, the risk of captives rising up against them from within the camp too great. Even so, Robin questions the commander, for which he receives a swift slap across the face and some muttered words about war being no place for lily-livered country folk like himself.

 

Quashing his revulsion, Robin does as he is bid. Insubordination, after all, is tantamount to treason. He tells himself that the King would never have condoned such an action. But later, Robin is too afraid to ask him, because he knows he will not like the answer. So he remains silent.

 

He tells himself that he is only following orders – until he becomes the man who has to _give_ the orders.

 

It is barely a year before he is asked to join the King’s Private Guard, and less than another until he is promoted to Captain. He tries not to think about all he has done that has impressed his superiors – things that would have made him a monster, a murderer, back in England. But in Palestine he is a hero. He enjoys the attention, the adulation from younger officers seeking to emulate him, and more seasoned veterans impressed by his skill with a sword and bow.

 

The difficult decisions are now his, but he has a greater purpose to work towards – for Robin, there is no higher calling than protecting the King. He becomes Richard’s confidante, and sees as man so fuelled with passion for his quest, his desire to reclaim Jerusalem for Christendom - for God. Richard confesses to him that he has committed wicked sins in his past, and that by taking up the cross, he is seeking redemption – seeking to make himself worthy of his people. The fire in Richard’s eyes is enough to earn him Robin’s eternal devotion, although he has long since been disillusioned with the dream. Jerusalem is just a city of walled stone – not a place where his sins will be miraculously washed away, or his faith restored, or his demons cast out. A part of him feels he will be lost in the sand forever – an endless purgatory to repent in.      

 

He reads the Saracen holy book, trying to find a reason to hate them, but finds that their beliefs are not so very different from his own. He sees the same fervour and passion in his compatriots as he sees in the Turk. And while he continues to cut them down day after day, he begins to mourn the action even more than before. Robin no longer keeps count how many he has killed – he believes the number would break him inside.

 

Sometimes, he thinks of Marian – of what she would say if she could see him. _I told you so_ – probably. Certainly they would not be kind words, and perhaps she would think that he is getting exactly what he asked for.  What he deserved. But he wonders whether she would take him into her arms, and whisper forgiveness in his ear. No matter what tricks he had played on her, no matter how angry she had been with him, no matter how many verbal rebukes he received from her, she always forgave him in the end. The memories are sweet, but then he remembers that they had been innocent childhood pranks, or the action of an oblivious young man – he wonders whether she would even recognise him now. He’s not sure he recognises himself.

 

In the summer they begin to take heavy losses. He falls injured in battle, a Saracen looming over him, ready to make the killing strike. But Much appears to fend the enemy off, sword in hand and a blazing hatred in his eyes. All Robin can do is lie helpless in the sand, as Much slaughters all those who come near – Much, who as a child was careful not to trample ants – without mercy as he kills Saracen after Saracen to protect him. It is the moment the last part of his glory dies – it is the moment when war breaks a man. But Robin cannot weep – cannot comfort his friend, who he sees so desperately needs his support. He cannot feel anything.  

 

When he closes his eyes at night, all he sees is red. He is in the killing fields – and they all sowing seeds of hate, as their causes are lost and all they continue to fight for is the need to exterminate each other, because it has to be _worth_ all of the slaughter.

 

Someone has to win.

 

* * *

 

 

When he finally returns to England, he longs to find peace. In the forest he thinks he is done with killing – and for a while he avoids it successfully. But he cries over Marian’s lifeless form in the cave, and his grief mixes with an undeniable urge to cause pain when he hears the Sheriff calling his name. In those moments, as he charges the enemy, sword in hand, he fully expects to die, and does not care. In the Holy Land, a good soldier kept himself alive, but in this moment all he wants is revenge. It is all too easy, to let himself go, to remember how to kill efficiently, to butcher his opponents almost without effort. Far too easy, and he does not like the feeling.

 

But afterwards, he cannot help but slip back into his warrior ways, even after Marian is returned to him. For the King, and therefore England, has come under threat. Every night he bites back the bile at how reckless he has become - but he cannot stop himself, dispensing justice as he sees fit, in a way he swore he never would again. Robin knows he is slipping away, but will not pull himself back; for he must remain loyal to the King, not matter the cost. Marian questions his devotion, and tells him he follows Richard at the expense of his own people, his gang, and his cause. He knows that she is right, but cannot change.

 

Because the truth is, he sees himself in the King – a representation of everything he believes in and fights for. How can he expect his gang to be loyal to him, if he turns away from Richard? So he pushes all thoughts of the war from his mind, choosing to forget the horrors he witnessed and committed - lest they overtake him. He works hard at his outward persona – Robin Hood, full of mirth and joy and confidence, and tells himself that it is not an act.

 

But at night, he cannot escape the memories. They flood his dreams – the vacant expression of a man whose soul has left him, the warm blood that spilled on his hands and stained his robes, the heat, the sweat, the moans of pain, the poverty-stricken women who trawled the camp, willing to exchange their bodies for gold, the scavenger birds that picked at the dead - all of this he sees when the darkness closes in around him.

 

And when he wakes, it takes him a few moments to remember where he is – in the place between sleep and consciousness, he dwells in the Holy Land, where an enemy is always ready to attack.  

 

Where he is as brutal and inhuman as the rest of them.

  

__

* * *

 

 

In the outlaw’s camp, Marian has trouble sleeping, unused to the sounds of the greenwood and the chilled night air. And there is Robin, who twitches in his sleep beside her, occasionally murmuring unintelligible things, eyelids fluttering, and she wonders what he dreams of. Whatever it is, she does not imagine them to be pleasant, because his body is always rigid, and his breathing shallow. He is never at peace.

 

One night he is even more erratic as he thrashes and calls out, as if in pain. Worried for him, and conscious that all the other members of the gang need their rest, Marian tries to calm him.

 

“Robin,” she whispers, placing her hands on either side of his face, and strokes his brow where beads of sweat have formed. “Shhh,” she soothes him.

 

His eyes snap open and before she is aware of what has happened, he has her pressed back into the bunk, with a knife at her throat. His eyes are not his own, her Robin who sparkles and winks and teases her – these slits of ice belong to a madman.

 

“Robin,” she says again, this time a plea for him to _see_ her, for he is looking beyond, even as his warrior’s gaze is trained on her face.    

 

He blinks, and appears to come back to himself. He inhales sharply and drops the knife, backing away from her as quickly as he can.

 

“Robin...” She reaches out for him, but he stalks out of the camp and into the woods without looking back. Marian reaches for her boots to follow him.

 

“Let him be.” Much’s soft voice counsels her, and Marian turns to Much’s bunk, seeing that he is fully awake. She wonders how long he has been watching. But she ignores his words and searches for her cloak among the bedclothes.

 

“Marian, just leave it,” Much is more firm. “He needs to gather his thoughts.”

 

“Well, I can help,” she argues, mindful of keeping her voice low so not to disturb the other outlaws. “If it’s about the Holy Land - he can share it with me.”

 

Much shakes his head sadly, and looks to the empty space where Robin had disappeared through the trees. “He won’t tell you.”

 

“Why?” Marian knows Robin has always been reluctant to speak of his experiences in the war, but she believes that if asked, he will share anything with her.

 

Much looks at her with compassion, and a little bit of pity. “Maybe...” he begins. “Maybe he thinks you would no longer love him, if you knew the things he’s done.”

 

Marian snorts dismissively. “He’s a fool if he believes that.”

 

“We were all fools Marian,” Much explains sadly. “Fools and demons. It takes something from you – the human part of you, I think. Robin’s tried so hard to find it again, to forget everything that he did. But the dreams – they never leave you.”

 

Marian wants to ask him to tell her more, but the look in Much’s face stops her. There is a flatness behind his gaze that warns her off. So she lays back into her bunk, and waits for Robin to return. When he does, much later in the night, Marian says nothing about his ashen face or red-rimmed eyes, but welcomes him into her arms. He rests his head against her shoulder and clings to her with a vice-like grip.

 

But he does not sleep, and so neither does she. She decides if she cannot offer him understanding or comfort – at least she can offer him her companionship. Although she cannot follow him into the dark places within his memories, she can wait for him to return.

 

Because that’s the one thing she knows, now. He will always return to her.


End file.
